Chapter 3 - THE DEATH EVERYONE ACCEPTED
Charles Whitmore had died at home.
That was what every company biography said.
Sudden cardiac arrest.
Sixty-three years old.
No suspicion.
No controversy.
The board honored him with a scholarship fund.
The headquarters lobby still displayed his portrait.
I had walked past it every morning for five years.
Now I wondered whether the man in the photograph had died because he discovered his own family stealing from the company.
“That’s a serious accusation,” I said.
Arthur nodded.
“I know.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“Not enough.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“Because Charles sent me an email at 9:16 p.m. the night before he died.”
Arthur took out his phone.
He showed me a screenshot.
ARTHUR, TOMORROW MORNING. NO EXCUSES. I FOUND THE SOURCE. DO NOT CONTACT DANIEL OR MARGARET.
I read it twice.
“You kept this for eight years?”
“I turned it over to police.”
“What did they say?”
“Charles had heart disease. Nothing at the scene suggested foul play.”
“And the audit?”
“Disappeared.”
“What?”
“The files Charles said he had gathered were gone.”
I felt pressure behind my eyes.
“Who had access to his office?”
Arthur looked at me.
“Margaret.”
Of course.
“And Daniel.”
Of course.
“And one other person.”
“Who?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Melissa Grant.”
That surprised me.
“HR?”
“She wasn’t HR director then. She was executive assistant to Charles.”
I thought about Melissa at the restaurant.
Please don’t make this worse.
Not: Are you okay?
Not: I saw what happened.
Just damage control.
“Did Melissa know about the audit?”
“We don’t know.”
“Did she know where Charles kept the files?”
“Yes.”
I sat back.
Arthur continued.
“After Charles died, Daniel became interim CEO.”
“And Melissa?”
“Promoted.”
“How quickly?”
“Six weeks.”
My phone vibrated again.
Another anonymous message.
STOP TALKING TO VANCE.
I showed Arthur.
His face changed.
“You told anyone I was here?”
“No.”
“Your attorney?”
“She knows.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
Then Arthur looked toward the window.
The security contractor was still outside.
A black sedan sat across the street.
It had not been there ten minutes earlier.
Arthur stood.
“We should leave.”
“To where?”
“Not headquarters.”
My phone rang.
Melissa Grant.
I let it go to voicemail.
Thirty seconds later, she called again.
Arthur said, “Answer.”
I put her on speaker.
Her voice sounded shaky.
“Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
Arthur shook his head.
I said nothing.
Melissa continued.
“I need to talk to you.”
“You had that opportunity last night.”
“I know.”
“You watched Daniel threaten me.”
“I know.”
“You tried to get me outside after his mother hit me.”
“I know.”
Every answer sounded smaller.
“Why are you calling?”
She began crying.
“I made a mistake.”
“Which one?”
Silence.
That was the wrong question.
Because suddenly I realized there might be too many.
“Melissa.”
“I can prove Daniel didn’t start this.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“Where are you?”
“At my sister’s.”
“Send the address to outside counsel.”
“No.”
“Then we’re done.”
“Ethan, wait.”
Her breathing became faster.
“Daniel was moving money before he became CEO.”
“How?”
“Charles made him.”
Arthur and I exchanged a look.
“What?”
Melissa lowered her voice.
“Daniel was covering for his father.”
That contradicted everything.
Arthur mouthed: Don’t trust her.
I kept listening.
“Covering what?”
“Debt.”
“What kind?”
“Private loans.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know he was covering it?”
“Because Charles asked me to alter board packets.”
Arthur went rigid.
There it was.
A confession.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“Before Charles died?”
“Yes.”
“What did you alter?”
“Related-party schedules.”
Arthur whispered a curse.
Melissa heard him.
Her voice changed.
“Arthur is there.”
I looked at him.
Neither of us answered.
Melissa began talking faster.
“You need to get away from him.”
Arthur scoffed.
“Convenient.”
Melissa said, “Arthur was on the committee that approved every deal.”
That was also true.
I looked at him.
His expression hardened.
She continued.
“Ask him why Charles wanted him at that meeting.”
Arthur said quietly, “Because I chaired audit.”
“No.”
Melissa’s voice broke.
“Because Charles discovered Arthur had been taking money too.”
The kitchen seemed to contract around me.
Arthur stared at my phone.
“Melissa, you’re lying.”
“Check North Harbor Trust.”
His face changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
Melissa heard the silence.
“Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“There is an account under a foundation.”
Arthur stepped toward the phone.
“Stop.”
Melissa rushed the words out.
“Whitmore Transportation Education Foundation. Look at the signatories.”
Then something crashed on her end.
Melissa gasped.
A man’s voice shouted.
The call disconnected.
I tried back.
No answer.
Arthur reached for his coat.
“We need to go.”
I didn’t move.
“Who are the signatories?”
His jaw tightened.
“Ethan.”
“Who?”
He stared at me.
Then the anonymous number sent another message.
This time it included a photograph of an old bank signature card.
Three names appeared.
Charles Whitmore.
Margaret Whitmore.
Arthur Vance.
May you like
I looked up.
Arthur did not deny it.
